Idle Hands
by Les-Cerises
Summary: A short introspective. Lex considers the differences between his life and Clark's, and why he has a protective urge toward the younger man. Heading towards slash. One shot.


I don't own Smallville, nor do I own much of anything except a dinky TV and a 20 year old dinette set. Don't sue me, because it's so not worth it. Slashy, Lex/Clark one-sided romance hinted at. My first fic put up here! Yay!

Lex Luthor, Prince of Metropolis, slouched idley at his desk, focusing at his hands. They were pale, elegant, and long-fingered, with neatly clipped nails. No calluses or ugly scars marred the surface. They were hands that suffered nothing rougher than gripping the steering wheel of an expensive car, or maneuvering a pool stick, or clicking the keys of a keyboard.

He really hated his hands.

He was also fairly sure that isolating body parts to loathe was the sign of too little to drink.

With a sigh, he heaved his weight out of the chair and towards the liquor cabinet. He watched his hands curiously as they opened the whiskey and poured an 'oops' shot into a (resultantly) full tumbler. So. It was one of those mornings.

He despised his hands more for the way they shook, like a terrified man putting on a thin, desperate show. He downed the whiskey all at once, then wiped at his lips with a wince. Three more of those, and he might forget all about his hands, let them float about, detached from his arms …

"It's not even eleven yet, Lex." The soft voice startled him, and he turned to see the familiar figure leaning against his doorframe.

"Boy Scout," he said with a forced smile, "I wasn't expecting you. Don't you go to college now?"

A soft smile was Clark's only answer as he walked over and took the glass from him. His hand, rough and brown, brushed against Lex's own, and Lex felt his obsession transferred. Calloused, scarred, and muscled by nearly two decades of farm work, Clark's hands were a perfect fit to the rest of the man. They were large, honest, and gentle, with great strength barely concealed.

He knew that, similarly, his hands could be said to resemble him – pampered, vapid, and aristocratic. He folded them under his arms, watching his shoes scuff the carpet, as Clark rinsed out and replaced the glass. The bottle went into the same place it had come from. They had done this too many times in the past five years, he thought, if Clark knew how he organized his booze.

"What's wrong?" Clark questioned, open and honest, like always. Tactless, like always; caring, like always. "Something about the company? A major scandal threatening to leak onto the Daily Planet's front page?" He smiled a bit, just a warming of the eyes and a twitch of the lips, to soften his comments.

He was more evil than he feared if he let anything corrupt this boy.

He knew, somehow, that if ever he looked at Clark's hands and they were as idle and faithless as his were, his world would stop making sense. Everything would shatter, and he, Lex Luthor, would have no one to protect him from himself.

"There's more to this than a simple disagreement, isn't there?" Clark stood, waiting for him to speak.

Lex made a mistake, then; he looked into Clark's eyes, seeing the open, naked compassion in them. Clark knew that Lex was morally lacking, knew that he had never done a day of hard labor, knew that he dealt business in shipyards and back rooms. He knew all of that, and still cared about him. Trusted him, even.

Lex Luthor, Prince of Metropolis, nevermind a millionaire CEO in his mid-twenties, knew then that to protect this boy, his boy, from corruption, he would go so far as to become evil itself. If he had to, he would make Clark so repulsed by corruption and greed that he would never be tempted by it. He would stay the same Boy Scout he always had been, and his hands would remain nut-brown, rough, and honest.

"I've just been doing some thinking," replied Lex, gracing his boy with an intimate smile.

His reward, seeing Clark's face light up like a sincere five year old, was worth anything the older man could call to mind.


End file.
